


The Veil of Night

by The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat



Series: Reylo Week 2018 [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Compulsion, Dark, Geas, Nudity, Other, Prompt Fic, Reylo Week 2018, Touch, implied dark!Reylo (sort of), implied reylo, takes place pre-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2020-04-24 18:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat/pseuds/The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat
Summary: Three nights. Three nights without sleep. While the state of being was not new to Kylo Ren, the reason was. He was not being seized by nightmares, nor forced to remain awake and on guard for a threat from General Hux or a Knight of Ren. Instead, he was being swallowed whole by visions.A jungle that changed to a blasted veldt; twisting vines and nightblooms that became a temple, pulsing darkness emanating from within; a woman’s voice, inviting, teasing, crying, lost somewhere in the distance.“Embrace me, Knight of Darkness...”The Sun, blotted out and lost in an explosion of black feathers that became limned in gold, their soft luminescence casting a soothing glow over the nightscape. When the vision would release him, an entire night cycle would have passed, and he was not rested, but restored and restless, all at once.At last, Supreme Leader Snoke called him to the audience chamber, and Ren knelt before the massive projection, his Master enthroned.“Your Force signature wavers, my apprentice. You are unbalanced, unfocused. The Light tempts you, Heir of Vader?”From the Reylo Week Days 2 & 3 prompts: Dark, Touch





	The Veil of Night

**Author's Note:**

> ***This is a reposting of a deleted fic.***
> 
> Hey what's up some people have tracked me down to ask about some fics I wrote that they missed when I killed my account. By request, I am reposting some of them. I won't be checking for comments or anything else on them, since I don't really participate in the fandom much anymore.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy these in good health, and be kind to each other in the comments ok?!
> 
> ~(TAFKA)SC

Three nights. Three nights without sleep. While the state of being was not new to Kylo Ren, the reason was. He was not being seized by nightmares, nor forced to remain awake and on guard for a threat from General Hux or a Knight of Ren. Instead, he was being swallowed whole by visions. 

A jungle that changed to a blasted veldt; twisting vines and nightblooms that became a temple, pulsing darkness emanating from within; a woman’s voice, inviting, teasing, crying, lost somewhere in the distance. 

“Embrace me, Knight of Darkness...” 

The Sun, blotted out and lost in an explosion of black feathers that became limned in gold, their soft luminescence casting a soothing glow over the nightscape. When the vision would release him, an entire night cycle would have passed, and he was not rested, but restored and restless, all at once.

At last, Supreme Leader Snoke called him to the audience chamber, and Ren knelt before the massive projection, his Master enthroned.

“Your Force signature wavers, my apprentice. You are unbalanced, unfocused. The Light tempts you, Heir of Vader?” 

Snoke’s voice is soothing, almost compassionate, and Kylo’s mind begins to anchor itself and lock down. Snoke has nothing but contempt for compassion, and to solicit or accept the second is to guarantee the first. 

Kylo does not look up from his kneeling position. “I have never known Light to disguise itself as Darkness, Master.”

A ripple, a frisson of emotion skates across Snoke’s uneven, disjointed features, and Kylo feels a dangerous curiousity spike across Snoke’s presence in the Force. He reflexively offers up the jungle and blasted veldt, the twisted temple, the pull of the pulsating darkness within. He does not offer the voice, or the feathers; his instincts tell him to possess these soft, alluring things of darkness and hoard them away from the judgement of his Master. Instead, he cloaks them in shades of skittering nothingness, banishing them to the furthest reaches of his consciousness.

“What do you believe this vision is revealing to you, Kylo Ren?” Snoke’s voice is neutral, eerily calm.

“I believe that this temple holds objects of Dark power, Master.”

“And why have you not confirmed this, Ren?”

“Because I serve your will, Master, not my own.” Kylo still kneels, head bowed.

“Rise, Kylo Ren.” The Knight stands as Snoke leans back on his throne, evidently pleased, or bemused.

“You will uncover the temple’s location, claim any artifacts within, and bring them to me.”

“Yes, Master.”

Snoke’s twisted visage faded into nothingness, and Kylo returned to the meditation chamber in his quarters, not bothering to remove his helmet.

Seated before the dais enshrining the mask of Vader, Kylo breathed deeply and centered himself, but was unable to pass into a relaxed awareness of body and mind. He frowned, and reached for the mask, seeking grounding in the darkness, but his hand jerked back wildly, like that of a child whose mother tries to protect them from the bite of the fire. He frowned, and reached for the mask again.

"Stop, please!"

Kylo froze. It was a woman's voice, distressed, pleading. The voice from the vision...but words that were not from the vision. Could she see him? Her distress seared his possessive nature, demanding he _act_. All at once, Kylo's ears began to ring, not deafeningly, but loudly enough to make it impossible to slip into meditation. It drove him from the chamber, and receded minutely once he stepped out. Curious, he exited his quarters--and the irritating whine abated further. Intrigue seized him, and his mind sprang into action. How far did he have to go for it to disappear completely? Was it tied to the meditation chamber? Or to the mask itself? He stalked down the hallway, and the sound softened, but was still audible. He headed for the bridge, and the sound sharply increased in volume and pitch. Kylo barely contained his flinch, and the Stormtroopers nearest him could not contain theirs at his sudden stop. They froze, anxiety spiking in the air. He turned and faced them, looming darkly. They remained frozen in place as if he had done it himself until he resumed his trek to the bridge. The noise got worse the nearer he approached, and he was savagely amused that there was in fact something on the bridge more irritating than General Hux.

Retracing his steps, the noise ebbed. Kylo turned down the hall toward the training room, intending to exhaust himself into clear-mindedness, but the whine took on a screeching tone, and he could not hide his flinch then. Fortunately, there was no one around. He was methodical, testing each direction, and discovered, after nearly three-quarters of an hour, that the hangar was the only place on the ship where the sound slipped down to an almost toneless thrum. Still there, still intrusive, but not actively unpleasant. He raised an eyebrow, but boarded his ship all the same, and rushed into the void of space. Once there, he found that the noise was still behaving like an inverse homing beacon, increasing when he flew in certain directions and decreasing in others. Ren snarled. How was he ever going to use the hyperlanes if he didn't know where to go?! Flying at sublight speed was madness; he had no idea how long he would be on the ship and didn't have provisions stored for more than a few days. He picked a direction that didn't scrape against his nerves, set coordinates for open space outside the nearest planet, and hit the hyperlanes.

Days later, he was still going, but getting closer, the visions returning to haunt him whenever he would try to close his eyes. The sound had receded when he'd jumped to Ord Mantell, and, while irritating, had not prevented him from landing on the planet to restock the medical, food, and clothing supplies on board _The Silencer_. The whine was a softer scrape--although still uneasy and not settled by any definition--when he cut in the sub-light engines near Mandalore, only to come screeching back when he zagged to Dathomir. Where in the hell was he supposed to go? He tried asking the voice in his dreams, but she wasn't much help either. 

"Come closer, so you can hear my song," she had said the second night that he tried to sleep. Well, hopefully this horrible noise wasn't her song, or he was going to be deeply disappointed, and she was going to be deeply stabbed with a lightsaber, whoever she was.

He hadn't wanted to waste time trekking back to Mandalore, but passing so close to Yavin without at least a couple of Star Destroyers was a terrible idea, so he took the long way around. The shrill screech changed to a contented hum near Felucia, so he had landed there to replenish his food supplies and to try meditating, to see if he could work out where this temple was. Ultimately, his incredibly roundabout, trial-and-error tracking brought him to the Iego system, and the contented hum became a siren song as he flew toward a smallish moon, grey and green and brown. Scanning the moon for life forms, he orbited, hoping the song might guide him more precisely. There was no need; as soon as his orbit crossed the terminator into night, the jungle gave way to a twilit blasted veldt. The barren landscape stretched on, no temple in sight. As he glided across the night sky, the song grew more distinct, and he was entranced.

"I am cold in the light, naked and alone;  
I am sheltered and safe, warm in his shadow;  
I am his possession, I weep and I moan;  
Why has he not come, my temple to hallow?"

He followed the sound of the song, his ear becoming attuned to the sound of her breath, the beat of her heart, and at the southern tip of the moon, where the daylight smudged the darkness, there rose a temple of nightblossom and darkvine. Here was the place, and the song was a thing of penumbral loveliness. He disembarked and advanced, wary of attack, his hand on his belt, and he saw the shade of a woman, lithe and smooth, prance just in the corner of his vision. He whirled, and reached out with his senses, but was quickly overwhelmed; the Dark signature of the temple was everywhere, obscuring hers, though her song had not ceased. He passed through archways and cupolae, flowers twisting toward him and opening at his approach, until he found her, standing just outside the innermost sanctum. Her hair was a dark river, cascading down to her rump; her eyes were golden, her nose small, and her face was painted with flecks of starlight. Her black peplos seemed to be woven of shadow itself, almost insubstantial, but concealing her body from his gaze. Her skin was kissed with gold, and her bare arms were slender, but strong.

"Welcome, Knight of Darkness."

"Who are you?" Kylo was grateful for the modulator on his helmet; in his own ears, he could hear how unsteady and high his voice became in her presence.

"I serve the Dark."

"But who _are_ you?"

"Knowledge comes at a premium, Knight. Especially knowledge of the Dark."

"What would you ask of me?"

"An unbreakable vow."

"And what will I receive in return?"

"Everything you have asked for."

He shook his head; contracts with the Dark were dangerous enough, but something so vague as 'everything he had asked for' could be her name, and nothing more, in exchange for a betrayal of his Master.

"What have I asked for?"

"Me. Who I am, what I am, what I will become, how I shall be bound to you, and you to me."

He scoffed. "When have I asked for such things?"

"You have chased me for nearly 20 days, have you not? Surely this was more than a passing dream or fancy."

"I have come to absorb the Dark power of this place; to take with me the relic it houses."

"As I said."

His composure frayed. "Do not toy with me, priestess. I will cut you down where you stand."

"And show yourself an easily frustrated, frightened child with no understanding of power nor discipline to wield it? How disappointing."

Scarlet reflected off the walls, off her skin, in the visor of his mask, the hiss and crackle of his saber matching the spit and yowl of his temper.

"You intend to make good on your threat, then?" Her voice was maddeningly calm, her eyes almost sad. "A pity you aren't who you might have been."

The world turned black as darkness shrouded his vision.

  
  


"Now you are as blind as you act," she purred, her voice echoing from everywhere.

Reflexively, Kylo reached out with the Force, and was again overwhelmed with the signature of the Dark Temple; she was utterly obscured. He snarled in frustration, and lashed out wildly with his saber, vainly hoping that he might score a lucky hit on his tormentor. A sigh from--above?

"Perhaps you merely _feel_ less like a Knight of Darkness and more like a child in a mask with a toy sword. But I see what lies within you."

"The 'potential of my bloodline'?" Kylo scoffed. "Spare me, I've heard it time and again."

"Your bloodline?" She sounded almost confused. Did she not know who he was? She had said that she did. "Gar taldin ni jaonyc!1" Her voice was a mild reproof.

He did not understand what she had said, but her tone was clear. "You act as though you know who I am, but clearly you don't!"

"You would rage at someone judging you by your bloodline, _and_ you would rage at someone being ignorant of your bloodline? It sounds as if _you_ don't know who you are, or perhaps you wish you were someone else?" A soft caress against his left wrist, the whisper of substance. His hand darted forth to snatch at her, but he caught only air. 

"Do you know how to become someone else, Knight of Darkness?" she hummed thoughtfully.

"Better than most," he replied. That wasn't really true, not deep down, but he'd spent so long fighting to be anyone other than Ben Solo that he felt like it ought to be true.

"You have to die." She spoke without malice, or voyeurism.

He took half a step back, raising his blade to defend himself, but a breath behind his right ear shocked him, causing him to freeze.

"You have to let your past die. Kill it, if you have to. That is the only way to become who you wish to; empty yourself of your old self to make room for your new self. You look like you might have room for two in that body," she chuckled, "but I assure you, it's unpleasant and incomplete to live that way."

He heard a hissing and felt his mask begin to depressurize; he whirled and slashed the air behind him, hearing the sizzle of the blade through empty space. A breathy chuckle from behind sent him spinning back the other way as his helmet lifted completely off.

"Give it BACK!"

"Now, now, Sir Knight..." The playful admonition floated to him from across the room. "Can't you admit to being the _slightest_ bit curious about me? Or are you still too hellbent on frightening me to recognize how frightened _you_ are of _me_? After all, you're hardly negotiating from a position of strength..."

Disturbances filled in the air around him: wisps of air that tickled his cheeks and nose, the soft beating of wings. 

"I mean you no harm, Knight of Darkness, but I will not allow you to harm me, nor will I allow you to take what is mine to give. _Allow me_ to give you what you seek! I will only do that under the condition that I laid before: you will swear an unbreakable vow."

"I serve a Master already, and cannot serve another."

"Of course, of course. Well, then I return your helmet, and you'd best be on your way. Until we meet again in the starry veil, Knight of Darkness." Kylo felt his helmet nudge itself into the crook of his left elbow.

Her footsteps began to recede, but he was still blinded, and feared to go back to his master empty-handed. He switched off his saber and called out to her, hoping she was still there. 

"Wait!"

"Yes, Knight?"

"Perhaps there...is another way?" Kylo was on the back foot and knew it; negotiations had never been a strength, to put it mildly. However, after 20 nights of visions, and not knowing whether they would ever end, he was desperate to try. The burning curiosity that he would never admit to spurred him on.

"Are you tired, Knight?" 

"No." 

"Hungry?"

"No." His answers were immediate, reflexive.

"You refuse my hospitality?" The question and her confused tone took him completely by surprise.

"I...well, I..." He groaned internally; he'd already screwed this up somehow, and he was about to jam his helmet on and feel his way out, blindness be damned!

The air burst with the heady perfume of nightblossoms when she laughed. "You needn't be afraid of accepting my hospitality, Knight. I have offered it freely in exchange for your armistice."

"Oh." He was again startled by her nearness when she placed her hand in his right elbow, but years of courtly training snapped into action. At least he couldn't embarrass himself on that account.

"Come," she said simply, and the veil over his eyes began to dissipate as they moved. A set of stairs lay tucked against the far wall of the sanctum, and she paused at the top. 

"Is your vision returned, Sir Knight?"

"Yes."

Satisfied that he would not fall, she moved down the stairs beside him. A cozy sitting room, with a fireplace, a low table, and stools, awaited them. Over the fire, a metal sword rotated of its own accord, a spit roasting meat. The air crackled as the occasional drip of fat hit the fire, and the air was filled with a welcoming richness. She motioned Kylo to sit, poured them both a drink out of a carafe, and sauntered to the fireplace, removing the spit and plating the flaming hot meat on a charger in the center of the table.

"Please, help yourself! Let me demonstrate." She took a dagger from her place and cut a haunch of the meat, rushing it to her mouth and licking her fingers clean of the fat. Then she took a drink of the wine. 

"You see? I mean you no harm."

The meat was rich, dripping with juices, and was an unaccustomed luxury for Ren, whose normal fare was consumed for nutrient density, efficiency, and digestibility, not flavor or richness. He held it, allowing it to sear his fingers, and savored the way that it seemed to fall apart when it touched his tongue. It was a bitter meat, punctuated with warm spices, and had not been overcooked, but was roasted to a turn. The wine, as it turned out, was distilled from some kind of nectar, and was sweet, but light, and cleansed the palate. 

They both ate until they were sated, and the wine didn't lead to drunkenness. 

"Now," she began, "you had an alternative idea?"

His mouth opened, then closed, and his jaw rolled, as if he'd lost his words somewhere behind his teeth, and was searching for them. He let out a short sigh. 

"No, but--"

She smiled and took his hand, shaking her head. Feeling her skin against his, Kylo was overcome with sensation. Every hair stood on end, his blood rushed, and dampness pricked the edge of one eye. 

"I have a relic your master will accept, and it is powerful, but irrelevant. I am the servant of the Dark, and the Dark has called you here. _You,_ specifically. Take the vow, know your worth, take the object to your master, and await your destiny. Is that really so difficult to accept?"

"When you put it that way, no." 

"No one, not even Snoke, can keep you from your destiny, though he might try, if he ever realized what that destiny was."

His voice faltered. "How do you know--?"

She smirked. "Take the vow."

What could he do? He knelt before her, confused when she put her hand under his chin and pulled.

"No. Rise. You take this vow on your feet. The Dark would not have you live on your knees, whatever _he_ might have told you." 

She moved so that they stood before the fireplace, took her right hand and placed her palm against the palm of his right hand, then lifted her left arm in supplication. Her eyes went nearly completely black, with only a thin halo of gold, and her body cooled as she channeled the Force.

"Hear now, the call of the Dark, and accept your charge, Knight of Darkness!  
Know that the Dark is eternal, and will not be bested by the Light.  
The Dark is the power that limits, the shadow that obscures,  
the shade that protects, the boundary that none dare cross.  
The Dark is the beginning, the warm embrace of the womb.  
The Dark is the end, the cool embrace of the grave.  
The Dark is the keeper of secrets, the witness of trysts.  
Feel the power of the Dark in the passion of your lover's embrace.  
Know the will of the Dark to hide away what must be protected.  
You will know her secrets, and she will know your ways,  
And you will guard and guide her for the rest of your days."  


She paused, her peplos blurring and obscuring, changing into black feathers that brushed against his skin, wings that folded around her, obscuring her body and face from his sight. 

"Do you swear to find, protect, guide, and champion the one that the Dark shall show you?"

"I swear."

"Look well, Knight, upon the face of your charge, so that when you find her again, you will know her, and you will not break your vow."

The wings vanished as the black feathers burst forth, limned in the gold of firelight, settling before the hearth in an inky pile, and the priestess stood before him, naked and unashamed.

"Mine is the form you will find in time, Knight of Darkness. I am but a servant, and this is not my true shape, but you may acquaint your senses with me, to aid you in keeping your word."

Kylo reached forward, touching her shoulder, running his fingertips along the cool, smooth skin of her arm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, but her gaze was unflinching. His hands spanned her waist, and he gathered her to him, feeling that her head would rest just against the hollow of his clavicle, as if she were made to nestle there, and that he could rest his chin on her head, as if she had been molded to fit him. He let his hands wander down her back, feeling the gentle slopes and curves of her, pausing above the swell of her rump. He held her close, and then released her, stepping away.

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"You are not she."

"As I said."

"Yes, that is all, unless you believe there is something I have neglected?"

She cocked her head, a slip of a grin warming her features.

"You are curious, a thing of shadow, not altogether a thing of Dark. Your vow has been made, it will be your doom if broken. Farewell!"

Kylo blinked, but the temple was gone, save for some worn stones that were cracked and overgrown with vines. Looking down, his eye was caught by a Moravian star made of a smooth, jet-black stone. The object was the size of Kylo's palm, and it radiated the same dark signature that had overwhelmed his senses twice before. It was polished, weighty, and cool, but as he held it, he felt the sensation of black feathers drifting over his skin, tasted the bitter spice of the meat on his tongue, and smelled the honeyed scent of the nightblossoms.

\-----

How much time had gone by? Months? Years? And yet it all rushed back to him--the smell of nightblossom, the taste of honeyed wine, the feel of a head resting against his clavicle--and the words tumbled out in awe: "It _is_ you."

  


**Author's Note:**

> 1 \- "Gar taldin ni jaonyc!" Mando'a: "No one cares who your father was!" The full proverb is "No one cares who your father was--only what kind of father you'll become."  
>   
> 


End file.
